


In Warm Waters

by avyssoseleison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Developing Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, Intimacy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Negotiation of Physical Intimacy, Nudity, Self-Esteem Issues, Shameless Castiel, Understanding Castiel, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avyssoseleison/pseuds/avyssoseleison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of a necessity Dean really has forgotten about (along with his own name and which country he lives in), he and Cas share a bathtub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Warm Waters

Out of a necessity Dean really has forgotten about (along with his own name and which country he lives in), he and Cas share a bathtub.

Somehow, they have managed to get their clothes off without looking at each other (or at least, Dean was pointedly not looking at Cas, he doesn’t know what Cas might have been doing) and gotten in the tub in much the same decent way. But despite the modesty up until then, it’s difficult to ignore another person if they are sitting right in front of you in a tiny and wet space, with them naked and glistening, their legs obscenely crossed whereas Dean has drawn his to his body, and their skin touching Dean’s irregularly. Dean shivers with any touch each time, hears his own breath catch and sees the goosebumps rising on his skin, and he’s afraid Cas must pick up on his reactions, must see them, too. If he does, he doesn’t comment on them. Instead, he lathers up his arms and chest, and just hums to himself, low and without any discernable rhythm. Dean knows that Cas loves taking baths, and it’s kind of— _cute_ for him to be so relaxed and easy, unashamed even if he’s naked. Cas somehow manages to make things not as awkward and sexual as they are— _for Dean._

Still, Dean can’t help but glance towards him, trying to chance a look all over Cas’ body and maybe even his delicate parts, because he has never quite seen him like this. Sure, there was that one incident with the bees, but the dude had lost his mind back then, so trying to get an eyeful of, uh, what’s between his legs was not really was Dean was going for. He was more focused on catching Cas, throwing a blanket over him, and getting the bees off his body.

But now, the atmosphere is soaked through with warmth and wetness and the gentle sound of splashing water. It’s intimate and slow in a way that is reminiscent of those conversations they used to have much more often, those that defined their friendship in terms of trust and camaraderie back when the world was one step away from ending. Those conversations that they are starting to have again, at night, when Sam has already gone to bed and they are left with the snow of the television and minds that are still buzzing, restless. They often talk in hushed voices then, for some reason Dean himself doesn’t get, and Cas often has that little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. And even if this is something that hasn’t been going on for too long, it’s already become something precious for Dean. Something, he knows, he will always think fondly back to.

But despite the warmth and absence of fear now, there is still something tense in the atmosphere. It might be Dean’s imagination or just him — really, it actually looks like it might be. Because Cas is still sitting there like a pasha, legs spread and his back propped up against the edge of the tub. His eyes are drooping, but not closed, and he is not staring someplace else in the compulsive way that Dean does — he is loosely looking towards Dean, with eyes that are warm and affectionate, and there is that dumb smile that Dean knows from their evening conversations, and Cas’ cheeks are flushed with the heat of the water, and unexpectedly, Dean has to swallow — because Cas has never looked as gorgeous.

So, quickly, Dean blinks and looks away, stares towards the faucets at the other side of the room, where it’s safe and there are no pretty angels watching him.

But, of course, Cas is never one to simply let those strange moments pass by in silence.

"You may look, Dean," Castiel allows, gentle and coaxing.

And despite his embarrassment and the little vestiges of heterosexuality Dean pretends to cling to, he does. He doesn’t even muster up the protests or excuses he knows he should be making up, the ways he should try to defend that he most definitely _does not want to look._ Because he does.

So, his gaze roams all over Cas’ collarbones, his dusty nipples adorned with the tiny mole, his strong and muscled torso, and— Dean swallows and wants to look away in shame, wants to tell himself that he is not curious and that he simply doesn’t get to see, that this is nothing that is meant for his eyes, nothing that he should want to get a look at. But in the corner of his eye, he catches Cas’ soft smile and his small, encouraging nod, and that’s all that he needs. So he lets his gaze wander lower; down the trail of coarse hair, hazy through the water, to where it ends in a thick thatch that is painted even darker by the water it is submerged in, and nestled between the curls and his meaty thighs is— is Cas’ cock.

Dean swallows, and he’s sure that the sudden hotness he feels creeping up on him must be visible all over his skin.

Cas’ cock is… _pretty,_ for a lack of a better term and comparison. It’s not as clearly to see as if he were outside the water, of course, but because of the minimal foam, there is almost nothing obstructing Dean’s view. So he can see how his cock is darker than the rest of Cas’ skin, but how it still carries a pinkish tint that might be due to the hot water, though Dean has no trouble imagining it always looking like that, getting even richer and more perfect in colour with more blood pumping into it. It’s floating lazily in the water, the dark curls making it difficult to see the base and to gauge how long it really is, but from what Dean can see, it’s already impressive enough. Especially because it’s— _hard_. A bit. Cas is sporting more of a chubby than anything, really, but it’s undeniable that his cock is not soft and easily swaying, but that there is a stiffness to it that makes it defy the water just so. That makes it look even better, even bigger, and it almost feels like it might have grown just a bit ever since Dean has started looking his fill.

Dean’s grateful that there’s at least some sign of arousal; it makes him feel less perverted, less like that he’s the only one who has that warm feeling rolling in his belly, and it also sends an unknown thrill through him, because _he’s_ the one who did that. _He’s_ the one who affects Cas in such a way. _He’s_ gotten Cas half-hard from doing nothing but sitting here — no touching, not even looking before he was allowed to, just physical vincinity. It’s oddly satisfying. Strangely enough, it makes Dean _proud._

He imagines taking Cas in hand, finding out how much harder and bigger he could get. He thinks about moving forward, between Cas’ spread legs, and to press him against the edge of the tub even more, to claim his lips with his own, to hear Cas moan and to have him touch him in return; he thinks about both of them leaving the tub and repeating their activities in the bedroom, to fall asleep in each other’s arms, to wake up to the promise of  even more kisses and handjobs; to have this every day for the rest of his life. To have Cas _stay_ with him. _Forever._

"Would you like to touch me, Dean?"

As gentle as Cas’ voice is, it’s cutting. Cutting through Dean’s little fantasies, in which Cas is already his and he is already Cas’, and there is no fear and no shame in wanting this, in kissing and loving another man, an _angel_. In which he deserves this, to want, and is wanted in return.

So, Dean nods and shakes his head at the same time, stammering like the idiot he is, “I, uhm, no, I don’t, y’know I’m not— it’s… I can’t, and… uh…”

Cas doesn’t look at him like a complete dumbass for this non-explanation, and for that, Dean is grateful; though it does nothing to temper his urge to surge forward and to kiss Cas, to show him his thanks for being so nice to a failure like Dean with his lips and teeth.

Cas opens his arms, and for a moment, Dean is struck with the image of Jesus, of him praying and showing and hanging on the cross, but what Cas really seems to be doing is far more human, more base, much less divine; it’s opening up his whole posture, offering up anything he has to give, and Dean feels his mouth go dry. Cas’ face hasn’t changed at all, it’s still as benevolent and kind as before, and his hands are so open and spread, just like his legs, and it’s absolutely ridiculous that Dean gets to see something as beautiful as this.

"You know that I would be alright with it, aren’t you? That I would want you to," Cas says, in his deep voice, and Dean didn’t think his face could burn any more, but here he is, flushing and staring at Cas with wide eyes, because _no, he didn’t know._

Cas laughs softly, at Dean’s reaction obviously, but Dean knows it’s not meant in a mocking way, that Cas is doing so with affection. Cas lifts his hand, through the water, but before he can really reach out with it and touch Dean, he halts and lets it fall away. Dean instantly misses the potential of it.

"I do," Cas gently assures him. "But if you don’t, it’s alright. You do not need to feel obligated in any way, Dean, not if you don’t want to. I never would have hoped—"

 _"I do,"_ Dean hastily cuts it, throwing the same words back at Cas. He knows he must be looking like a madman, with his insane blush and the wide eyes and the clenched fists, but he doesn’t care becaue Cas has to _know_. He just told Dean that he’d like to be touched by him, _for god’s sake,_ of _course_ he has to know. “I want to, I really do. Wanted to for— some time now.” He swallows and shivers and corrects himself. “A long time now. But I never thought I’d get this, so… I do, but. Not now. Not yet. I need…”

"…time," Cas completes for him.

Dean breathes out a big breath. The relief he feels is overwhelming — to be understood, to not have offended Cas, but having him get him once again. It’s so terribly telling and befitting for them, this communication without proper sense and words, with guessing and just _knowing_ — it makes Dean want to kiss Cas even more. _"Yeah."_

Cas tilts his head to the side and nods, and he looks oddly proud of Dean. Dean doesn’t want to think too deeply of _why_ that is. He won’t ask.

"Maybe next time," Cas states, not even as an offering or a suggestion, simply a matter of fact: _Maybe Dean will want to next time._

Dean can’t stop the small laugh bubbling out of his throat at these words, relief spilling over, and when he smiles at Cas, Cas is already smiling back at him. “Maybe next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my blog](http://avyssoseleison.tumblr.com/).


End file.
